


The Sun's Shadow

by DivineNoodles



Series: The Stage of Our Dreams [2]
Category: BanG Dream! (Anime), BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Extended Metaphors, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Implied LisaYuki, Mocatastic~, Side SayoTsugu, Side TomoHima, Time Loop, Trans Female Character, implied akorinko, revue starlight au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineNoodles/pseuds/DivineNoodles
Summary: It's so bright, the sight from that rooftop. Surrounded by her dearest friends in all the world and gazing off into the sunset, relishing in the peaceful laziness of youth...Moca wants to hold onto that brightness, forever and ever.
Relationships: Aoba Moca/Mitake Ran
Series: The Stage of Our Dreams [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752232
Comments: 44
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's do the time loop again~
> 
> Note that this first chapter begins with an extended allegory that has little to no bearing on the plot, which I realize is not to everyone's taste. If you'd rather jump straight into the Afterglow shenanigans, you can skip down to below the blockquoted section. HOWEVER I really do recommend reading the first part since it has thematic relevance and will be referenced later on in the fic. Without further ado...

The curtain rises.

~~~~~

> _A maze of darkness, filled with naught but sand and shadow. The ground sinks with every step. The torches’ faint flickers reveal flecks of sandstone wall that soon fade back into the black. The stench of musk and rot pervades every empty corridor. There’s not an ounce of light, water, or fresh air to be found within its atramentous confines—only the sensation that with each step comes the potential that one might fall into a gloom without end._
> 
> _It is here, through this labyrinth without form, that a girl walks. She is spindly of frame and bundled up tight in her cloak to combat the cold, yet shows not a trace of consternation as she paces, each step as assured as the last. From beneath her shawl peeks out a great big mess of black hair that flop over her eyes of a hue indiscernible in the dark. With each press of her bare feet into the sand she can feel the cracks on her soles dry and stretch even further, the thirst on her lips as driving her feet forward._
> 
> _The girl searches for light, for the exit of the labyrinth. She cannot remember how long she’s been walking, from whence she came, or any other measly details of her origin. All she knows is that she covets the brightness that emanates from the torches along the walls, and that should she escape this place she would find a land full of nothing but that wondrous light, effulgent and warm, all-consuming in its splendor._
> 
> _But the maze is vast, and she is alone. Her only sustenance is the dry, pitted fruits that droops from vines snaking across the walls. No matter how long or wearily she walks, she has no sense of progress. Facades fade into one another. Lightlessness stretches on forever. Time has no foothold. Every so often as she stumbles through the shadows, she has to stop by a torch and sob for frustration and solitude._
> 
> Where do I go? _she cries, wiping her face._ I’ve been searching and searching forever, and yet I find no place to exit, and no one to guide me. Am I truly all alone?
> 
> _She weeps and weeps and weeps, clawing into the wall with her fingernails all the while, until…_
> 
> You’re not alone. You never have been.
> 
> _The voice is airy. Playful. The girl turns and looks around._ Where did…? Who said that?
> 
> Eheheh~! It’s me. I’ve always been by your side.
> 
> _The girl scowls._ Then show yourself to me!
> 
> Don’t you see? I’m already here.
> 
> _The girl spins around and around. But all she sees is the torch on the wall and her own shadow._ I don’t see you.
> 
> _Suddenly, the shade before her cackles._ Don’t you, now?
> 
> _The girl takes a step back._ My shadow? You talk?
> 
> Indeed I do. _The shadow dances gleefully in her vision._ I’ve long listened to your woes, and I can’t help but take pity on you.
> 
> D… Do you know the way out? _asks the girl._
> 
> Hm… yes, yes I do, _says the shadow._ The way out is where the light is strongest. We shadows know these things, you see.
> 
> But do you want to go where the light is? _asks the girl._ After all, would you not prefer to live in a dark place such as thing?
> 
> Ahaha~! You’re a funny one. Don’t you know that the greater the light, the stronger the shadow?
> 
> _The girl thinks it over._ I… yes, that does make sense…
> 
> _The shadows warps rightward._ Follow me, then. And don’t tarry—we’ve got to get you out soon, don’t we?
> 
> _Filled with gratitude that she at last has company, the girl complies without a second thought._
> 
> _The shadow leads her on and on, through every twist, tunnel, and turnpike that crosses their path. A left here, a right there, the odd u-turn when a mistake’s been made… the girl cannot tell how far they’ve gotten, but she has no choice but to place trust in her shadow. It’s a part of her, after all._
> 
> You’re awfully quiet, _sings her shade, chuckling as they pass another torch._ Are you afraid of the dark?
> 
> Not particularly, _the girl replies._
> 
> Oh, but you’re still so hushed. What is it you fear, then? Starvation? Drought? Death?
> 
> You’re quite the noisy shadow, aren’t you?
> 
> _More laughter._ I can be silent, if you wish.
> 
> _The girl doesn’t reply. She’s been so terribly lonely that she can’t bear the thought of her shadow silencing itself—even if its babble is somewhat inane._
> 
> Well, no matter, _the shadow hums._ Let’s press on. You’ll want to go straight up here…
> 
> _The girl obeys, her mind turning to other questions._ Shadow, do you know what the light outside is like?
> 
> The light? Mm, yes and no.
> 
> What do you mean?
> 
> _In the dark space between the torchlight, she can’t make out her shadow’s appearance, and its voice grows dimmer._ Shadows can never truly know the light. We’re beings of darkness, after all. But we can sense the space around it. Feel where it’s not. Its absence is our existence.
> 
> I see, _the girl responds._ But why would you want to go to where the light is? Isn’t there much more shadow here?
> 
> There’s a difference between darkness and a shadow. _Its voice rises again as the girl approaches another torch._ In a place such as this, where gloom melts into nothingness, shadows become lost: indistinguishable shapes, wayward and formless. There is no crueler fate.
> 
> But don’t you disappear in the light, too? If it’s truly as all-encompassing as it’s said to be…
> 
> _A low chuckle._ Truly grim, isn’t it? Whether in total light, or total darkness, a being such as myself cannot hope to survive…
> 
> _An unfamiliar feeling washes through the girl’s heart, dragging it against her ribcage._
> 
> Fortunately, _the shadow continues,_ I know the shape of the outside light. It is bright and brilliant, yes, but it is singular in its source, casting long streaks across the landscape. What a majestic thing it is…
> 
> _Tension leaves the girl’s shoulders._ That sounds wonderful.
> 
> Indeed it is: sweltering, resplendent, commanding. _For the first time, the shadow’s voice is soft._ They call it the sun.
> 
> The sun… _the girl repeats. The word itself sounds warm._
> 
> I’ll show you to it, _says the shadow._ Come.
> 
> _The maze winds on and on, even as the rooms begin to diversify. Corridors lead into small chambers. Chambers open up into scantly-lit caverns. And the caverns seem to stretch into an inky infinity, inviting nothing but fear and demise should the girl tread out into the unknown._
> 
> _Eventually, she comes to a room with far more lighting than any other she’s seen: a large atrium filled with rubble, the center surrounded by an abundance of flickering torches that strike the debris with bright glares. The shadows here are vast and multitudinous, forming lean shapes against the high walls._
> 
> Ah, it’s a festival in here~! _says the girl’s shadow merrily, its own figure jumping along the partitions with the dance of the flames._ How they leap to and fro across the walls… what fun!
> 
> They look almost like people, _says the girl, beholding the animalistic shapes that slink and roar of their own accord._ Who knew they could appear so lifelike?
> 
> _Her shadow pauses in its merrymaking._ Tell me. Have you heard this story?
> 
> What story?
> 
> _Her shadow wavers along the wall, as if pacing back and forth._ Out there in the world is a cave much like this one, with a great torch that casts clear shadows against the wall. There are prisoners who are forced to face the wall, and from behind puppet masters put on plays with the silhouettes of their trinkets, making the prisoners believe that what they are seeing is reality. Should one of the prisoners be freed, he would turn to face the fire and be blinded, but with it he would realize that the shadows he had been watching his whole life were nothing more than illusions. And then he would venture out of the cave, to where the light is, and find something a thousand times more blinding – but with it, the truth of how vast and splendid their reality truly is.
> 
> _The girl says nothing._
> 
> They say the light represents truth, _the shadow continues._ You want to avert your eyes from it, but it exposes you to what is real. The shape, the form, the essence of what exists, in vivid color and lurid brightness… isn’t that a truly marvelous notion?
> 
> …But you can’t know it yourself, can you?
> 
> _The shadow halts._
> 
> You said it yourself, _says the girl quietly._ You’ll never know where the light is. That means you can’t know the truth, can you?
> 
> _The shadow is uncharacteristically silent. Its usually merry movements are stiller than a placid lake. But soon its regular chuckle booms out._ Perhaps you’re right. All we know are lies and untruths.
> 
> _The comment lingers over the brightly-lit dust._
> 
> Come, _the shadow beckons, wandering onward._ We have much further to go.
> 
> _But the girl’s curiosity is not sated._ You said the light outside—the sun—that’s truth.
> 
> So they say, _the shadow responds._ Although… hmm. Perhaps it’s something else entirely.
> 
> What makes you say that?
> 
> _The shadow stretches close to the door across the balcony._ Never mind. Idle thoughts. We should press on.
> 
> _Hearing the ponderance in its voice, the girl doesn’t press the matter any further._
> 
> _The path spirals on and on. The girl picks at the fruits that line the walls, gnawing at their flesh and spitting out their pits. Her patience runs thinner than ever before as she wonders how much longer she will have to sustain herself on such thin nourishment._
> 
> Tell me something, _says the shadow suddenly, as they pass into a room with a long staircase._ Why do you seek the sun?
> 
> Me? _asks the girl._ You’re my shadow. Shouldn’t you know?
> 
> I may be your other half, but I’m not a mind reader.
> 
> _The girl ascends the staircase._ It’s cold and dark down here. The sun’s supposed to be warm. That’s all.
> 
> Hm. _The shadow sounds unimpressed._ Is it not curiosity driving you?
> 
> Perhaps in part, _the girl replied._ I’ve never known anything but this maze, after all. I would like to see the outside.
> 
> Who wouldn’t? _asks the shadow._ It contains many wonders you can scarcely imagine… stars, oceans, grass… if you knew the meaning of each of those, you would be twice as driven to make it outside.
> 
> Am I not driven already? _asks the girl._ I’ve been wandering for so long and not once thought of giving up.
> 
> That’s not drive. That’s stubbornness.
> 
> _The girl reaches the top of the staircase, where a door to another room lies._ Is there a difference?
> 
> Ehehe… perhaps not.
> 
> _The girl pauses as her hand lays on the door handle._ You know… you didn’t tell me what you thought the light was.
> 
> Didn’t I? I said it was truth.
> 
> You did… but then you said it might be something else.
> 
> _Her shadow is unmoving._ Is now the time?
> 
> If not now, then when?
> 
> _Silence._
> 
> Well?
> 
> _The shadow continues to loom over the door. Then, in a voice so quiet it could be mistaken for the girl’s own wayward thoughts, it whispers,_ Passion.
> 
> …Passion? _The girl almost laughs._ That’s quite a bit different, isn’t it?
> 
> Truly. _The shadow’s voice returns to its usual good humor._ But… hm. Remember what I said? About how the shadows do not know the light, but everything around it?
> 
> Yes, I remember.
> 
> I suppose that’s what it’s like with passion. _The shadow creeps up the door till it matches the girl’s height._ You can feel it simmering right on the periphery, and the heat makes you boil… but it can never come from within.
> 
> Have you never been passionate about something?
> 
> Of course not. I’m a shadow. I’m chained to your will.
> 
> But surely you have a desire? A will? A craving?
> 
> None that are not your own.
> 
> _The girl bites her lip; she has more questions, but no way to articulate them properly. She opens the door wearily._ Well, we’ll have to see when we step outside, then.
> 
> _The shadow giggles._ Have you ever had a passion?
> 
> Only the burning desire to get out of here.
> 
> Ehehe… that makes one of us, then.
> 
> _The girl steps forward into the next room, only to have the arch of her foot fall on something hard and round. She curses and examines the object._ A pit?
> 
> You can spit quite far, _the shadow jests._
> 
> I didn’t spit ahead of me, _the girl says._ Besides, the door was closed. How did it end up here? Did someone else pass through?
> 
> Hmm… _A beat of quiet._ I suppose that must be it.
> 
> _The shadow’s tone is oddly accepting. When did it ever mention the possibility of others in here? The girl had wandered these halls for as long as she could remember and never found another soul. But could there really be…?_
> 
> Let’s continue on. Perhaps we’ll find them.
> 
> …Yes. Perhaps.
> 
> _The girl, against her common sense, tucks the pit away and walks on._
> 
> _The shadow is quieter moving forward. Its little jests and questions are now gone, replaced by simple and direct commands. The girl obeys, more distracted by the floor—every once in a while, she comes upon more pits._
> 
> We must be getting close to them, _says the shadow._ And in such number… perhaps there’s more than one person.
> 
> _The girl doesn’t respond. She kicks most of the pits aside as she walks, her mind churning in thought._
> 
> You’re quiet. Is something the matter?
> 
> …Nothing.
> 
> _The shadows tuts._ Now now. I can tell something is amiss. You can speak to me. I know you better than anyone.
> 
> _The girl hesitates, but takes a seat against the wall, next to a nearby torch. Her eyes drift, in search of what to say… only to fall upon a certain curiosity._ Where did these marks come from?
> 
> _She leans in. Just below the torch, near the level of her hands as she sits, is a mark scratched lightly into the façade. It has no real discernable shape—the product of fingernails and frustration._
> 
> What’s the matter? _Asks the shadow._
> 
> _The girl stares at the mark._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _She’s seen it before._
> 
> Shadow.
> 
> Mm?
> 
> These pits that we’ve stumbled across… I know who’s been discarding them.
> 
> Oh? Curious. I thought you knew no one else.
> 
> _The girl rises to her feet._ I’ll tell you as we walk.
> 
> As we walk? What’s the—
> 
> _Suddenly she’s pacing down the corridor quickly, darting for the first fork in the road she sees._ Which way?
> 
> Here? Left. Why don’t you—
> 
> _The girl veers right._
> 
> Where are you going?
> 
> _She ignores the shadow, venturing on towards a four-way intersection._ How about here?
> 
> …Straight.
> 
> And if not there, then which?
> 
> Right is also acceptable. But not left—that will just loop around.
> 
> _A sharp turn to the left._
> 
> What are you—?
> 
> You’ve been lying to me.
> 
> _The girl’s voice is shaken and cold._
> 
> Every direction… every last bit of guidance… they’ve all been to keep me in this maze, haven’t they?
> 
> _The shadow does not speak._
> 
> You don’t seek the sun at all, _she spits out._ You’d rather have me keep talking with you, as if you’re real, sentient—alive. But you’re just a shadow. You’re not real.
> 
> …Could an unreal being lead you astray?
> 
> Quiet!
> 
> _The girl stops dead as the path splits into eight._
> 
> I trusted you, _says the girl._ What else did you say that was a lie? Does the sun exist? Is it light outside? Is there even an exit to this place?
> 
> _No words._
> 
> Answer me!
> 
> ……Take any path you’d like here, _says the shadow,_ except the one north. That’s the only dud.
> 
> _The girl feels the maelstrom of her stomach stop swirling._
> 
> Well? _asks the shadow._ It’s up to you whether to follow my words or not.
> 
> …Never in a million years, _says the girl, taking the northward path._
> 
> _A dry, sad chuckle._ That’s what I thought.
> 
> _The girl continues on. The shadow continues speaking. Its directions are low and expressed in the negative._
> 
> Don’t go this way.
> 
> _Defiance._
> 
> Don’t tread down those stairs.
> 
> _Refusal._
> 
> Please don’t open that door.
> 
> _Insolence._
> 
> _So it continues… until she comes upon it. A door, twice as large as any other, surrounded by grand braziers. Her shadow looms long behind her as she approaches._
> 
> …Here we are, _says the shadow._ Is this not what you wanted?
> 
> _The girl stands motionless before the door._
> 
> Perhaps you were right, _says the shadow quietly._ What can a measly little shade know of the big wide world? I’ve only ever known this place. Just as you have.
> 
> _Her fist, tight as a knot, begins to loosen._
> 
> I can’t help but fear what will happen when you open that door. Will I disappear? Will you be blinded? Will we both burn into ash?
> 
> …None of those things could possibly happen, _the girl replies._
> 
> So you say. But beyond that door lies the unknown. Are you really ready to face it? Truth? Passion? Or whatever else lurks beyond?
> 
> _After a moment of contemplation, the girl grips the door handle._ As ready as I’ll ever be.
> 
> Ah. Well then… good luck.
> 
> _With that final platitude, she opens the door._
> 
> Safe travels.
> 
> _The voice of her shadow diminishes beyond a whisper as she’s greeted by a flood of…_
> 
> _Darkness._
> 
> _Deep-blue night stretches out above the desert, dotted with pinpricks of white. The air is clear. The wind is cool. Her feet sink into soft sand._
> 
> _But there’s no light._
> 
> _The door shuts tight behind her._
> 
> _She can see nothing but black before her._
> 
> Shadow?
> 
> _There’s no reply._
> 
> Shadow, where are you?
> 
> _She turns to face the door she came from, gritting her teeth as she attempts to pull it back open. But it’s clamped shut as can be, without even a hint of the brazier’s flame licking through the frame. She cries out in fear and desperation._
> 
> Shadow! Shadow, please answer me! You have to be there!
> 
> _The wind is her only company._
> 
> Shadow, please! I’m sorry! I should have listened to you, but I just—
> 
> _Her thoughts catch up with her mouth at last._
> 
> You… you didn’t want me to see this, did you?
> 
> _She collapses to her knees, falling into the murky sand with muted sobs._
> 
> You wanted me to keep dreaming. To keep imagining such a sight, so that I wouldn’t be disillusioned by the reality of what lay beyond the doors. So why… why…?!
> 
> _Her screams have no walls to echo off of. The night is cold and tight and close. No matter how far she cries out, there’s not a single iota of life left in her world… just the scattering of stars above, too far away to grant her the company of her only friend._
> 
> _Her heart burns._
> 
> _Burns, and swells, and consumes._
> 
> _On and on it blazes until all catches fire, and she becomes lighter than air, rising into the sky with her grieving inferno. The deep navy turns to a light blue, and the sea of dunes lights into a luxurious tan landscape, casting streaks of black across the painted desert. Everything is of a vivid hue and a lurid brightness as she rises, rises, rises high into the center of the sky._
> 
> _She looks. And looks. All around the world she cycles in search of her friend._
> 
> _But she will never find it._
> 
> _For the sun casts no shadow of its own._

~~~~~

The curtain falls.

* * *

* * *

“Geez, Moca, are you doing this _again?”_

Himari’s voice breaks through her resting thoughts and shut eyes. Moca, of course, has been conscious the entire time they’ve been up on the rooftop, but there’s no fun in telling them that. She rolls over on her schoolbag-pillow with faux-drowsiness, murmuring gibberish as she yawns and curls up tighter. “Moca-chan is tired. She needs rest. She isn’t harming anyone.”

“God, you look like a cat resting in the sunlight,” says Ran, leaning her back against the railing above Moca. “It’s not even warm out, you know.”

“Well, yeah,” says Tomoe, rubbing a finger against the bottom of her nostrils as Himari rests her head on her lap. “That’s why she’s bundled up in all of our school jackets, isn’t it?”

“Uggh, that’s not the point!” says Himari, her eyes at the same level of Moca’s coy grin as Tomoe rifles through her hair.

“And what is, Hii-chan?” asks Moca in reply.

“You look _too_ comfortable, that’s what! You’re laying on solid concrete like it’s a plush bed or something.”

“Ehehe…” Moca giggles as she opens her eyes to a half-lid. “Well, that’s because Moca-chan is surrounded by all of her dearest friends in all the world. What could be more comfortable than that?”

Ran and Himari groan in response. Tomoe sighs and shakes her head. Only Tsugumi—angel that she is—laughs. “I get what you mean, Moca-chan. It’s that sort of comfortable atmosphere where you can let loose and not worry about how other people are looking at you, right?”

“I don’t understand at all,” Himari replies as Tomoe bends down to nuzzle her scalp. “Aren’t you embarrassing yourself?”

Ran, Moca, and Tsugumi stare at the two of them for a second too long.

“What is it?” asks Tomoe. “Is there something on my face? Or her face?”

“…Never mind,” says Ran, the tiniest of smirks flashing across her lips in a movement so fast only Moca can catch it. “It’s not like any of this matters.”

“Ooh, Ran’s playing it cool again,” says Moca, looking up towards her with a smirk. “I bet she actually thinks this is the most important topic in the universe.”

Ran scoffs. “As if. I have better things to worry about than whether or not you look like a fool.”

“Really? You seem really distracted by that every time we talk. ‘Oh Moca, please stop laying your head on top of mine and squishing my cheeks from behind, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

She feels the edge of Ran’s sneaker collide with her shoulder. “Cut it out.”

“Guuuuuuys!” Himari whines. “Stop fighting!”

“Is this even fighting?” asks Tomoe with a chuckle. “It’s just bickering. Same as always.”

“Oooh, there’s the catchphrase,” says Moca, slowly sitting up. “Tomo-chin has to put some yen in the jar.”

Tomoe grumbles and rubs the back of her head. “I don’t have any change.”

“And the jar doesn’t actually exist, dummy,” says Ran. “How many times do we have to tell you?”

“Wait, the jar isn’t real?” asks Himari. “Then why did Moca make me pay for her bread yesterday? She said it was reimbursement for all the times I’ve said it over the years!”

“Ohoho,” chortles Moca with her usual sleepy drawl. “That bread tasted as good as a lifelong debt paid off.”

“Hey!”

Everybody else laughs, though only Tsugumi looks guilty about it. “Ch-Cheer up, Himari-chan! You won’t have to worry about saying that for much longer, after all!”

Her words cut the fun mood short.

“A-Ah, sorry,” says Tsugumi quickly. “I didn’t mean to make the mood heavy…”

“’S fine,” says Tomoe, gently lifting Himari up so she could recline her head against the railing. “I mean, it’s happening no matter what, yeah?”

“Don’t say that,” mumbles Himari. “I mean, you know…”

Uh-oh. Dark times for the gang. Fortunately, there’s one lovely lady who knows just how to cheer them up. “Alas, indeed, forsooth…” laments Moca, clasping the back of her hand to her forehead. “This is the winter of our discontent! The February of our senior year, as the specter of graduation looms like a devil in the distance… oh, woe is me! Soon we shall part ways once and for all!”

That gets a few snorts. “You sound like Kaoru-senpai,” says Tomoe, a half-smile returning to her face. “You taking acting classes?”

“Ugh, she wishes,” says Himari, sighing dreamily at the thought of her prince. “Oh, Kaoru-senpai… where have you gone?”

“Community college?” Tsugumi replies.

“That’s so faaaar!” Himari whimpers. “Way too far for her to come and pick me up on her white horse… hmph.”

Moca can see the wince in Tomoe’s expression as she speaks. Ouch. Poor Tomo-chin… Himari just doesn’t realize her butch of a best friend is in love with her. Then again, neither does Tomoe.

“W-Well, there’s still plenty of time we can spend together!” says Tsugumi, pumping her fists in attempted positivity. “After all, we—!"

She’s cut off by her phone ringing.

“Ah, just a sec.” Tsugumi picks it up. “Hello? Huh? Hina-senpai?” She remains motionless for a few moments before bolting for the rooftop door. _“You and Sayo-san are WHERE?!”_

Before anybody else knows it she’s gone.

“Still getting dragged around by Hina-senpai, even now?” asks Tomoe, watching her run off. “Poor Tsugu’s gonna be stapled to her hip for life.”

“Well, it’s like Ran-chan said,” says Himari. “Well liked by the Hikawas indeed.”

Ran doesn’t move at the mention of her name, instead continuing to moodily stare off into the sunset. She hasn’t said a word in minutes, and Moca knows exactly what that silence means. Countermeasures would be required.

First order of business—clear out the rooftop. “Hey, Hii-chan, isn’t Kaoru-senpai’s new show tonight?”

Himari scoffs. “Nice try, but it doesn’t premiere until tomorrow.”

“True, true…” says Moca with a tsk. “But she told me they have open dress rehearsal.”

 _“They DO?!”_ asked Himari, jumping to her feet and latching onto Tomoe’s wrist without a second thought. “Let’s go! Let’s go! To! Mo! E!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Tomoe yelps, stumbling behind as they vanish through the rooftop door.

Phew. Like a charm. Moca rises to her feet and slinks over to Ran, who shrinks ever so slightly as she approaches. “Those two, I tell ya. Do you think they’ll ever get over the blocks in their brain and confess to each other already?”

Ran remains quiet, her eyes not so much as glancing in Moca’s direction.

Ah, jeez. Moca has trouble when Ran gets like this… she was built for listening, not talking. She runs through a script in her head—what could get the conversation going? “Hey, how’s your dad lately?”

“Fine, I guess.”

Hm. Straight and to the point. Probably not about him. “Songwriting okay?”

“Yeah. It’s alright.”

She isn’t going to get anything out of her at this point… at least not so indirectly. Time for a different approach. “Raaan~,” Moca sings, poking her in the cheek.

Ran slaps her hand away. “Cut it out.”

“You’re upset, aren’t you?” asks Moca, edging just a centimeter or two closer. “Come on. Talk to Moca-chan. What’s wrong?”

The silent treatment continues.

It clicks in her head. “It’s about graduation, isn’t it?”

Surprise flashes through Ran’s eyes for only an instant. “…How do you always know?”

“Ehehe~,” Moca giggles. “The great and benevolent Moca-chan has many powers, you know. Omniscience is but one of them.”

“Right, right,” says Ran with a dismissive sigh, slumping her head onto her forearms as she leans forward on the railing. “Well, you’re right. You want a prize?”

Moca’s heart skips a beat. “Maybe a kiss?”

“Not in a million years.”

“A hug, then.”

“Better, but still no.”

“A firm, platonic handshake?”

That finally gets a snicker. “You’re a real idiot, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” Moca lilts happily. “I’m omniscient—I know everything.”

Ran rolls her head over towards Moca a few degrees, looking out over the Haneoka courtyard. “…It sucks.”

“What? Life?”

“Yeah, mostly,” Ran scoffs. “It just keeps going and going and going, doesn’t it?”

“Everything happens so much,” says Moca sagely, leaning forward in the same motion that Ran does, as if to elicit her thoughts via her line of sight.

Ran pauses for a moment, beholding the orange-soaked skyline with tight lips. “…We could’ve all stayed together, you know.”

“Ran—”

“I don’t want to control anybody else’s path,” Ran continues. “Tsugumi deserves to go to a nice college. Himari should study abroad if she wants. Tomoe has every right to go to find a job on the other side of town. But…”

“But?”

Ran irately scratches at the side of her head. “When I think about how miserable I was in middle school, when I was just in a separate class from you guys… I have no idea how it’s gonna be going forward.”

Moca reaches out and pats her on the shoulder with a worried smile. “It’s hard to let go, huh?”

Ran exhales through her nose. “Yeah. I hate it.”

“Don’t worry. So does Moca-chan~.”

“Heh. Sure doesn’t sound like it.”

Of course it doesn’t. Moca never sounds like she means it, or else people will start to figure out that she actually does.

“It really sucks though, doesn’t it?” asks Ran. “What the hell did I even do in high school, anyway? I thought I’d find my way forward here, but all I did was fall into inheriting the ikebana school. Just like I told myself I _wouldn’t_ do.”

“There, there,” says Moca. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Does it now?”

“Why… it happens to everyone!” Moca professes, gesticulating grandly. “Who doesn’t dream of a rose-colored campus life filled with raven-haired beauties who will turn your way as you pass by, only to end up disappointed with the mundanity of reality and filled with regrets?”

“Is that what high school is like?”

Moca felt back onto the railing, her arms dangling over the edge like limp noodles. “Maybe I’m mixing it up with university.”

“You have a weird idea of higher education…”

Moca lets her chuckle be the final word on that conversation, hoping she hasn’t screwed up somehow.

Internally, of course, her thoughts are swimming in those regrets. Regrets over how Tomoe and Himari have never been able to face their feelings for each other. Regrets over how Tsugumi still beats herself up for every mistake and downplays her own merits. Regrets over how Ran has seemingly fallen into a career trajectory that she doesn’t seem happy with and isn’t doing anything to change it. There are her own little measly qualms mixed in there—feelings left unsaid, secrets left untold—but those hardly matter. Not when Ran and everybody else looks like this.

But in the diving pool of her memories are other emotions, too. Happier ones. “Hey, remember freshman year? Our first concert, in the garage?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

Moca waves her dangly arms around. “It was our first concert in high school, right? We were still pretty grungy back then. Didn’t even have properly coordinated outfits or anything. But man, we got so into the music that at the end Tomo-chin thrashed the cymbals and screamed ‘We’re Afterglow, and that’s all we got! Thanks for listening, and fuck the cops!’”

Ran laughs. “And one of the neighbors—a police officer—was there.”

“Yeah, see? You remember,” says Moca. “Her parents had to apologize over and over again… it got even worse when Ako-chin picked it up and said it at school.”

“Oh man, I forgot about that part.” Ran’s head has lifted out of her arms by a few centimeters. “Why bring that up?”

“Just thinking about it,” says Moca. “Just like I’m thinking about Hii-chan’s tennis championship.”

“Ugh, forgot about that too…” Ran rolls her torso over to rest her back against the railing. “That was a heartbreaker. She was just one set from taking it over Okusawa-san.”

“Hard to compete against someone with a smash honed by bear-suit acrobatics.” Moca mimics a forehand lob. “Did you know Hii-chan was gonna confess afterwards if she won?”

“What? No way.”

“Yeah way,” says Moca. “She was all ‘if I win I’ll tell you all my secret.’ I pressed her about it afterwards and she said it was that she loves K-pop. As if that’s a secret…”

“She wouldn’t really stay closeted over something like that, would she?”

“The obliviousness is strong in that one…” says Moca lowly. “Though perhaps not as strong as it is in Sayo-san.”

“Sayo-san?”

“Yeap. Didn’t you know? Tsugu’s had the biggest crush on her for almost three years now.”

Ran’s jaw drops. “What? No way. Tsugumi’s not— _Sayo-san?_ That can’t be her type, can it?”

“Can’t be helped,” says Moca with a grin. “Some people just fall for dense dummies who don’t know how to express themselves.”

“Oy, are you talking about me?”

Ran singled out the wrong person in the conversation, but Moca saw an opportunity for japery. “Not unless you’re ready to admit you have a crush on Minato-san.”

“I’ll murder you.”

“Wouldn’t you rather murder _her?”_

“Yes.”

“Oh, boohoo… Ran likes Roselia’s songstress more than me…”

“Th-That’s not it!”

“Ooh?” asks Moca, snaking an arm around Ran’s shoulder. “Then Ran loves Moca-chan after all~!”

“C-Can it, you idiot!”

Seeing the little rush of red to Ran’s cheeks is enough for Moca. Knowing not to push her luck, she retracts her arm just as quickly.

“…You’re right, though,” says Ran. “There’s lots of good memories, too. Catching the sunset at Inoshima, coming up with dumb manga ideas at lunch, watching the fireworks during the summer festival…”

“Ooh, forgot about that one.” Moca giggles. “What’d you say about the fireworks… ‘they’re like flowers?’”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Ran’s voice is tiny. “I hate saying that kind of thing out loud.”

“It was poetic,” says Moca, with just a little hint of Kaoru in her voice. “Indeed the night sky that evening was… fleeting…”

Ran is rolling her eyes as her phone buzzes. She flips it open with a disgruntled sigh. “It’s Dad. Wants me home soon.”

“Oh no…” says Moca with false sorrow. “Then this is… our final goodbye, isn’t it?”

Ran punches her in the arm. “Don’t joke about that, idiot. I’m…” The fire fades from her eyes. “Never mind.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Moca apologizes. “Believe me, I’ll cry big mopey tears at our graduation.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ran steps towards the door for a moment before pausing. “Hey, Moca?”

“Yeah?” Moca asks back, lolling against the railing with attempted nonchalance.

“You, um…” Ran coughs. “You never told me what you’re doing after graduation. Are you going to college? Into work? What?”

The sunset is beginning to fully sink into the distance, staining the rooftop with long streaks of darkness. Moca can feel the faintest of warmth seep into her back, meshing with the cold February air that enters and exits her lungs. Her smile is hidden in the shadow of her face as she speaks:

“Moca-chan has big plans. Don’t worry.”

“Tch.” Ran shakes her head. “Dunno why I expected a straight answer out of you.” She shoves the door open and leaves unceremoniously.

“Of course not,” Moca mutters. “You should have expected a gay one.”

There’s nobody around to laugh at her bad joke.

Moca flops over to face the horizon. The dusk is deep and pink, a brilliant rose that stains her eyes. She’s stared at sunsets like this from this rooftop for years upon years. It’s like a second home at this point. And yet, only now does she feel her retinas ache as she looks into the glare, unconsciously bringing her arm up to shade her face. She faces her hand’s silhouette, marveling at the intensity of the hues as she whispers to no one,

“It’s so bright…”

* * *

Below.

Far, far below.

In a theater where none reside save the players on stage… the grand finale concludes.

Metal slices through silken cord, bringing a cape of luxurious red to fall to the ground below. Its bearer—a wolf clad in silver and black—can do nothing but gape as she watches it tumble into nothingness.

“Oof. Tough luck, Minato-san. You’ve really got to learn how to watch your back.”

Yukina stands motionless, save for a quiver in her armed hand. Just as she’s about to lash out in uncomprehending anger, the curtain falls, smothering her blow.

The victor of the match whistles as it occurs, ignoring her hundred kmph heart as she sees Yukina’s piercing golden gaze drowned by the wave of red. After all, that’s what Ran would like too, isn’t it? She should relish in this.

With a little skip away towards T-shaped tape, she hurls her dagger to the floor.

“Position Zero.”

A little exhale. If only she had an audience.

She expects it’s time to make her exit, but before she can put one toe away from the encircled mark her face is blinded by a flood of pink light. She whips her arm up to protect her eyes, which slowly adjust to the sight before her.

“Moca Aoba.”

She lowers her arm cautiously—her other hand is clutching a knife she hid up her sleeve, just in case. She can make out the silhouetted figure before her… with its wide frame, rounded ears, and beady black eyes, it’s unmistakable.

“Congratulations,” says the bear. “You’ve passed the auditions. The role of Top Star is yours to command.”

Even though nobody else is around, Moca does her best to play it cool. “Oh? A little ol’ role like that?” She juggles her knife as if it were made of plastic. “Probably not even as cool as Hamlet.”

The bear blinks. It doesn’t appear to be a creature of good humor. “Whatever stage you desire shall come to fruition. Players, props, location… they bend to your whim.”

“Neat,” says Moca. “Can I wish for… an unlimited supply of bread from Yamabuki Bakery?”

Once again the bear is unfazed. “Come forth and realize it—the grand stage of your dreams.”

Moca doesn’t have the energy or wit to snark any more. Her eyes by now have partially adjusted to the intensity of the glare, able to make out the pure lack of expression on the bear’s face. But more than that… she looks into the light.

“That’s a nice color, you know,” says Moca, continuing to toss her knife about. “Pink is underrated. Strawberries? Cotton candy? Love? It’s all pink, isn’t it? Just like that sunset.”

The bear doesn’t respond. That makes the light seem brighter, somehow.

“And man, what a sunset that was…” Moca muses, throwing her knife in a centrifugal circle. “When all five of us are there, it’s the nicest sunset in the whole wide world.”

The knife lands in the stage floor, point down. She grins sadly.

“Moca-chan wants to see it again.”

The glare of the lights intensifies, drowning out her vision in stark brightness. Dizziness overtakes her. Her head feels empty and foggy at the same time. But just before the effervescent sensation drifts her off to unconsciousness, she hears the voice, low and stern in her ears:

“I understand.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter relies on at least some familiarity with Afterglow BS1 and BS2, just for the record.

“We’re Afterglow, and that’s all we’ve got! Thanks for listening, and fuck the cops!”

Moca blinks.

Her feet are bricks and her back’s an iron slab. She’s slicked with sweat from head to toe and out of breath. Her hoodie’s fallen off her shoulders and now only clings onto her torso via her sleeves. She’s holding something long and dense in her hands… a guitar? Yeah, a guitar. Her guitar. The old, crappy one she got at a yard sale for a few thousand yen before Kokoro Tsurumaki bought everyone in town an instrument of their choosing as a ‘thanks for always smiling so wonderfully!’ How long had it been since she held it?

“W-We don’t actually believe that! Police officers are, um, uh…!”

Her head pans. There’s Tsugumi with a frozen smile, rushing to cover for her bandmates slip… Himari, staring down a sheepish Tomoe with wide, horrified eyes… a dusty garage where all the yard tools and car implements have been unceremoniously shoved off to the side to make space for instruments… an audience of suburban families and their impressionable kids, provoked to anger by an incendiary comment… and…

An outstretched fist, waiting to be bumped.

“What?” asks Ran, unable to hide a smile as she panted, nudging Moca’s arm with her knuckles. “We killed it. Don’t stare at me like that.”

Moca can’t help it. She forgot how good Ran looked in that thunderbolt shirt.

“Th-Thank you for coming out, everyone!” Tsugumi sputters before grabbing hold of the garage door latch above her and slamming it down right in the faces of their audience.

“Woah, Tsugu!” cries Tomoe. “That was pretty hardcore of you!”

“Tomoeeee!” huffs Himari, storming over to slap her on the shoulder. “Why’d you have to blurt that out?!”

“What? We’re all ACAB around here!”

“Well yeah, but you can’t just… _say_ that!”

Moca stares dazedly at a conversation she’s sworn she’s heard before as Ran snaps a finger right in front of her face. “Oy. Earth to Moca. The hell’s wrong with you? You’re usually not _this_ spacey.”

Suddenly feeling slightly more in her body than before, Moca moves the guitar strap over her shoulder and sets the instrument down gingerly. She has to be sure. “Ran… do we have test prep tomorrow?”

“Test prep?” Ran scoffs. “The hell are you talking about?”

“You know,” asks Moca, her voice more hollow than she intends. “For entrance exams.”

“Entrance…?” Ran puts down her guitar and scowls. “Is this one of your dumb pranks? We’re freshman, you—”

She’s cut off by Moca collapsing into her.

“M-Moca!” Ran stammers. “G-G-Get off!”

“Oh man, I dunno if I’ve seen her this clingy,” says Tomoe. “And I’ve seen some clingy Mocas over the years.”

“Sh-Shouldn’t you two do this somewhere private?” asks Tsugumi, peeking through her fingers.

“Hey, wait! We didn’t do the chant!” calls Himari, paying the situation no mind. “Let’s try! Hey, hey, hoh!”

Nobody responds, of course.

Because that’s how it always is in Afterglow.

And as Moca nuzzles her face against the extremely gross and sweaty belly of Ran’s shirt, she realizes:

That’s how it will be, forever and ever.

* * *

It’s just as she remembers. Every sweaty practice session in the studio. Every dumb argument held over fast-food in the evening. Every mundane conversation whose only meaning is in how meaningless they all are. The drifting, doldrum days of youth, stretched out like cirrus clouds through a baby blue sky.

The only disappointment comes from how Moca can’t tell anyone just how much this emblemizes “the same as always.” The concept’s peaked. She has to stop herself from busting a gut every time it slips from a band member’s mouth.

Of course Moca knows the foibles of such a path; she’s seen _Groundhog Day_ before, after all. She knows how this business works. But beleaguered American weatherman Phil Connors had to relive one and only one day over and over and over again… meanwhile, the marvelous Moca Aoba got the three greatest years of her youth all in a row, no strings attached. What could be better?

Ok, sure, having to redo the same academic subjects she’d been through before? A bit of a hassle, but hey, she was already near the top of her class, and with her supergenius brain remembering the test concepts she could do even better the second time around. Part-time work being a bore? She could always strike up a whole different set of conversations with Lisa—the two of them were chatty enough to squeeze out a couple lifetimes’ worth of topics, after all. And yeah, the rigamarole of going through the same band rehearsals and “relearning” songs she’s already played a hundred times is a bit repetitive, but at least she doesn’t have to put in the hours to practice: just a day after Ran hashes out a new jam Moca has the riffs down pat, easy as pie.

And all those little quibbles don’t mean a thing in the face of how much fun she’s having. It’s like replaying an old video game after a couple years away from it—you remember the broad strokes, but not the little details. Like the time(s) Himari brought her tennis equipment instead of her bass case to practice. Or when Tsugumi (after a full week of being Tsuguriffic) accidentally used salt instead of sugar and made some memorably nasty sugar cookies. Or how starting sometime in first-year Tomoe rushed to play the taiko every time it started raining in an effort to drive the bad weather away. Tiny bits that belonged in the scrapbook of memories but had been left to fade away in the recesses of the brain. Now she could properly catalogue each one of them in the folds of her mind.

Not to mention how she could nudge her friends back on the right path now if she needed to. Tomoe refusing to open up about her worries over Ako? Moca could pry it out of her like a telepath. Tsugumi pushing herself to the point of collapse again? Moca would know just when the breaking point was about to hit and step in to stop her. Himari about to blow her life’s savings on limited-edition Kaoru merchandise? Moca could now steal her wallet and give her a little lecture on financial responsibility. Keeping tabs on all of them the first time around had been a clumsy affair, but now Moca was fully fit to be a guardian angel, swooping in and caring for them all in their darkest hours.

* * *

Of course, there was one who needed that angel a little more than the rest.

“Moca? What are you doing up here?”

Ran’s voice is guarded as Moca shuts the rooftop door behind her. Moca can see the wariness in her eyes—the same wariness that shot out the first time they’d had this conversation. Fortunately, Moca’s more prepared now. “Hey, Ran~. What’s up? Checkin’ out that rad sunset?”

A mournful sigh. “What’s it matter to you, anyway?”

Ouch. Moca doesn’t remember Ran’s tone being that hurt… hard to keep up the positive act when she hears something that low. She forces a giggle as she joins Ran against the railing. “What do you mean? You matter to me more than anything else in the whoooole world.”

Not even a sliver of a smile. “Yeah yeah, whatever.”

Silence follows. Moca’s script that she had so carefully prepared for this moment has suddenly vanished, her mind too caught up in the fiery gloom Ran currently emits as she picks at the railway varnish. She noticed all that the first time, but she had no idea what it meant back then. Now that she does… she just doesn’t know what to do about it.

“…You should go to practice,” says Ran. “They’re waiting for you.”

“They’re waiting for _us,”_ Moca corrects. “Why not come with? Moca-chan gets lonely…”

“Sorry, but I’ll drop by later,” says Ran, rhythmically kicking her leg against the rail. “I’ve gotta sort something out first.”

Moca doesn’t reply. She knows what’s going through Ran’s head—worries about her dad, the band’s unity, how she doesn’t want anything to change. That’s why she’s cutting class like she did back in middle school. Moca knows the path she took to fix things the first time. It turned out well in the end, didn’t it? There was fighting, and yelling, and some feelings that got stepped on… but everything ended up fine. Did she really need to do anything different?

Looking at Ran’s tight-lipped expression, she realizes how stupid a question that is. “Hey, Ran?”

“What?”

“Is… Is everything alright at home?”

Ran’s mouth opens three degrees before clamping shut. “…Why do you ask?”

“Well,” says Moca, leaning an elbow on the railing as she pivots her body towards Ran, “Hii-chan told me she overheard you yelling in a phone call. It sounded like you were talking to your dad.”

Ran doesn’t reply, her eyes simmering in the twilight.

Well, crap. What’s Moca supposed to say now? She wasn’t made for long, serious monologues—every other line out of her mouth had to be cheeky or else she’d die of sincerity poisoning. She remembered the first time this all happened, when she was trying to reprimand Ran in Tsugu’s hospital room and all her harsh rebukes came out as piddly desperation. What was she supposed to do, call Ran a coward again? She hated doing that. Not just because it was mean, but also because it felt disingenuous coming out of her, of all people. The words didn’t fit the shape of her mouth.

“…It’s all slipping away.”

Moca’s inner conflict is broken by Ran’s muttering.

“The band, my relationship with my dad…” Ran bites her lip so hard it’s visible. “It’s all changing. I don’t want to do flower arrangement. I don’t want to leave the band. I just want everything to keep going, the same as always.”

Moca absorbs her words silently, as she always has.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Moca?” asks Ran, her voice shuddering. “I want my dad to just understand what I’m feeling for once, but…!”

Moca reaches over and pats Ran on the shoulder. Were they a couple years later on, she might have gone for a full-on hug, but as they are now… better not to risk it. “If you want him to understand… then, um…” Dammit. Why couldn’t she put her words together right when it mattered most? “…Talk. To him.”

“How?”

“I’ll, er, be there,” Moca improvs. “Just outside. I’ll get everyone else together, too. We’re there for you no matter what, you know? You can’t get rid of Moca-chan that easily.”

Ran doesn’t react to the quip. Bad time? Bad time. But she doesn’t push away Moca’s hand either.

“I… I mean it,” says Moca. “Don’t run away. Just be honest. Like Moca-chan~!”

Ran laughs and shakes her head as she gently shrugs off Moca’s hand. “Like you, huh? As if.”

Pang. “Ooh… you wound me…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ran’s voice is a little brighter now. “But I guess you’re right. I just… have to figure out how to talk to everyone. I guess I’m just afraid of what they’ll think of me…”

“And you’re not afraid of what I think?”

Ran heaves a sigh. “I could tell you I killed a man and I think you’d still treat me the same.”

“Ehehe. Moca-chan just loves her friends that much, that’s all.”

Ran pauses. “…You’re really easy to talk to, Moca. Why can’t I talk to anybody else like this?”

Moca’s smile drops a bit. “Maybe you don’t think of me as a person?”

“Ahaha… maybe, maybe.”

The affirmation, even in jest, stings a bit—but Moca doesn’t blame her. ‘Don’t run away’? ‘Be honest’?

Yeah, right. She wasn’t a person: she was a living ball of hypocrisy.

Fortunately, the advice seems to serve its purpose. The ensuing conversation between Ran and Tomoe is terse, but doesn’t escalate. Moca manages to intercept Tsugumi enough times over the following days to get her to rest so she doesn’t end up in the hospital. Ran strikes the same deal with her dad, who ends up going to their concert and loving it. The end result is like it was the first time… but with less toes stepped on along the way.

Moca can’t help but take a little pride in that. Who knew that hypocrisy could pay off?

* * *

Of course, that isn’t the only time Ran got into a tough spot with the rest of the band.

“…Sorry, I just don’t get the lyrics,” says Tomoe, pulling that all-too-cool smile of hers. “The melody is good, but…”

“I know what you mean!” says Tsugumi. “They’re kinda abstract and stuff. N-Not that I didn’t like it, I guess?”

Himari looks on blankly, grinding her teeth in anguish. “I just wasn’t feeling it. What about you, Moca?”

Moca hangs in the corner of the CiRCLE studio room, having just heard the tune that would eventually become _Tied to the Skies._ At the moment, its lyrics are an amalgamation of ambiguous imagery laden with specific flower metaphors that nobody save Ran could hope to understand—but that’s apparently a bafflement to the songwriter in question, who’s absorbing the news with awkward reluctance. Moca hems and haws in theatrical delay as her mind races through the incidents that came as a result of this last time: it’d be in her best interest to dampen the conflict as best as possible. So how could she do that? “Hmm… I kinda get it.”

Himari, Tomoe, and Tsugu all balk at her. “You do?”

Moca nods. “It’s pretty out there, but I think I get the vibe Ran was going for. I totally understand why you all don’t quite grasp it, though.” She smirks. “You just don’t know her like I do~.”

The insipidity of the comment is enough to return the flare to Ran’s eyes. “Hey now, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you really understand it, Moca?” asks Himari, mouth agape. “No way… I couldn’t put any of those parts about the rolling flowers in the sky together.”

“Ehehe, Moca-chan’s a genius. This sort of thing is natural, after all.” Not that Moca _does_ get what Ran’s going for much more than she did the first time around, but it’s not like Ran knows what they mean any better than she does.

“Well, what do we do?” asks Tomoe, crossing her arms. “You two may jive with it, but we usually try to come up with music we all like, right?”

“Right…” Ran murmurs. “Sorry, guys. I must be off lately. All those ikebana meetings are getting to me.”

“No problem!” Himari says. “Just rework the lyrics and get back to us, got it?”

“Hold on just a sec, Hii-chan,” says Moca, doing her best to act cool even as her heart begins to quake ever so slightly at the memory of what came next. “I think I should help with the lyrics.”

Ran blinks. “You? You’ve never really worked on that kind of thing before, have you?”

“Maybe not,” says Moca. “But I think I understand what you’re going for, and how to make it a little more connected to everybody’s feelings in a way they can relate to.”

“Are you sure you’re not reading too much into it…?” asked Ran. “It might just be a crappy first draft.”

“If you are the writer, then I am the editor,” says Moca, playfully poking Ran in the elbow. “Bring me the red pencil~!”

“I-I think Moca-chan could probably help you out a lot,” says Tsugumi, interjecting before Ran can snap. “She seems to be on your wavelength most of the time anyway, right, Ran?”

“…I guess it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Ran replies with a sigh. “We’ll work hard to rewrite it soon, okay?”

“Roger that!” says Himari, saluting. “What should we do for the rest of practice, then?”

“Maybe work on our older stuff?” suggests Tsugumi. “Or should we break early?”

“I kinda wanna dive right into songwriting,” says Moca. “I’ve never done it before, after all.”

“Guess we can leave you two to that,” says Tomoe. “I’m down for some grub. Wanna hit up WcRonald’s, Himari?”

“Oooh! I hear they have a new WcFlurry flavor!” says Himari with a little hop as they begin to pack up. “Tsugu, you should come with too!”

“I’d be happy to!” Tsugumi replies.

It isn’t long before the idle chitchat carries them out of the studio and into the neighborhood, Moca and Ran going the opposite direction as everybody else veers off towards the fast-food store. _So far, so good,_ Moca thinks as she waves them away. Last time the real blow-up didn’t occur until much later, but she’s pretty sure she can guide Ran in the right direction now. Or at least, she can hope; after all, if she can’t put out little fires like this, then what good will she be if an inferno blazes before her?

“It’s kinda weird you volunteered to help like that,” Ran comments.

Moca looks over. Ran’s avoiding eye contact, staring off into the distance as usual. “Oh? Is it?”

Ran nods. “You’ve always been cool with letting me take care of things before, haven’t you?”

Uh-oh. Is she unhappy with arrangement? “Ahaha… do you not want my input? It’s fine if you wanna take the reins yourself, y’know.”

Ran shakes her head and starts walking towards the tree-lined neighborhood before them. “It’s not that.”

Moca follows her. “Don’t worry. Moca-chan still bends her knee to your every whim. You say jump, she’ll say how hi… assuming she’s leaping for bread, of course.”

Ran keeps walking ahead of her, not so much as cocking her head in response to Moca’s jests.

“…Ran. What’s wrong?”

Ran kicks a tree as she passes. “I don’t get why they didn’t understand the song lyrics. I… I thought I’d done them just like always…”

Moca stifles her giggle. “Just like always, huh? I guess that probably looks a little different to you lately.”

“Does it?”

Moca nods, even though Ran can’t see it. “Of course. Ran’s been away with all of her big adult ikebana lessons, and poor little Afterglow is starting to feel lonely.”

No response. Is her joking not enough? Guess she should lay it on a bit thicker.

“Yep, ol’ Ran is leaving us in the dust. You’re climbing that mountain waaay ahead of us. How’s the view from the top~? Bet you can see my house from there. I’d love to join you there, but—"

Ran stops.

Moca halts before walking into her. “Ran?”

“…Is that the problem?”

Moca can hear the strain in her voice.

“Is everyone… distant from me now?”

Oh, crap.

Crap crap crap.

Moca teased without thinking. She passes Ran and turns to face her from the front, seeing her head tremble in place. “Ran, that’s not—”

“I’m sorry,” says Ran, choking back a sob. Her eyes burn with anger. “I… I wanted to do all the flower arranging so I could get my dad off my case… so that we could stay together… but in the process, I—”

She’s cut off by Moca’s embrace.

For a searing second, Moca curses her own impulses. What the hell was she doing? She was just lamenting how she acts without thinking, and now she pulls this? Ran’s gonna shove her into a ditch any second.

But instead… Ran leans in. Rests her head on Moca’s shoulder. The tears are few, but her breath is close, shuddering in Moca’s ear. “Am I running away again?”

“No,” says Moca, with more confidence than she’s ever had. “You’re tackling your problems head-on.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Ran hiccups. “I don’t even know if I like ikebana. I don’t know if I want to do it once I graduate. I don’t know if I can do it and the band at the same time. I…”

“Breathe, Ran,” Moca pleads. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to do flower arranging, then…”

_You don’t have to?_ Moca can’t just tell her that. That would be an empty promise she has no way of backing up. She isn’t a time wizard—she can’t just grant any wish she likes. How is she supposed to fix something she has no real control over?

“It’s not even my dad’s fault,” Ran sniffles. “He comes out to support all our shows and everything, and he barely even pressures me anymore. But I’m still afraid to tell him, just because I don’t want our relationship to sour again. Isn’t that stupid?”

“It’s not,” says Moca. “It’s really not.”

Ran coughs. “I’m an idiot. A big dumb idiot. I never want anything to change.”

“I know,” says Moca. “It hasn’t. It won’t.”

“How can you be sure?” Ran spits. “Hasn’t it already?”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Moca strokes across her back gently. “Nothing will ever change. We’ll always be together.”

She squeezes tightly, feeling an unusual confidence in her words.

“Moca-chan promises.”

* * *

Ran calms down after that. They spend the next few days writing the song, and Moca’s able to recreate enough of the lyrics from memory that by the time they show it off to the band, everybody’s roughly on the same page. There’s no heat or tension or freak-outs. Everybody thanks Ran and Moca for their hard work, and it turns out happily ever after. This just emboldens Moca further. If she can fix these incidents, she can fix others, too.

Moca remembers every argument all too well. They were always what made her ache the most—from the little squabbles over instrument parts to the big blow-ups that took weeks to resolve. They weren’t always frequent, but every occurrence had carved into her heart, a recollection of time they could have spent cherishing one another and instead getting into petty fights. They were a part of life, once upon a time—consequences of clashing personalities that couldn’t help but happen. But if Moca wants to make life better for everyone… then she has to tackle them all. Tweak every mistake. Right every wrong. That’s the least she can do.

Of course, not every single redo is for a situation quite so heavy, even if the stakes are no less meaningful. For example: pulling strings to make sure Himari wins her tennis championship? Tougher than—actually, no, it’s easier than it looks. All Moca has to do is tell Kokoro that Misaki wants a _lot_ of emotional support for the big day and bam: the ensuing combination of brass band, sky writing, and blimps is just enough to distract Himari’s opponent and net her a victory. Getting her “secret” out to Tomoe takes a bit more nudging, but it isn’t long before the two of them were holding hands every second of the day and communicating solely in “babe”s. Mission accomplished.

Tsugumi, of course, is a bit more delicate. While Moca wishes she could just go up to Sayo Hikawa and smack her upside the head until she confesses, that wouldn’t solve Tsugumi’s crippling self-esteem issues in the long run. She decides to play the long game, asking for Tsugumi’s input more during practice, making sure she contributes and feels validated, and once in a while—just once in a while—arranging a not-so-coincidental meetup between her and Roselia’s sour-faced guitarist. Tomoe and Himari are the sort that need a nudge to get over the speed bumps in their path; Tsugumi is the type who needs a push to get started at all. But once she goes, nobody’s more Tsuguriffic than she is: as evidenced by the Sayo’s graduation day, which brings with it a confession under the cherry blossoms so heartfelt that Moca (watching with the rest of the band from the bushes) has to wipe away a tear.

As for Ran… well, that’s a stickier situation. She keeps going with ikebana for the foreseeable future, though a ways after the _Tied to the Skies_ incident her commitment lessens to the point where she hangs out with the band regularly again. Moca’s tempted to ask her about it, but can never quite work up the nerve—much better to tease her about things that don’t matter, like her noodle or her octopus towel or her guitar being out of tune. But every now and then she can’t help but catch the distant glaze in Ran’s eyes as she arrives at practice after flower arranging, wondering what it means.

Moca, of course, can never say anything about it. Can never ask about feelings she would never divulge herself. Can never intrude upon a space that she fears will irreparably change who they are. She may play cozy with Ran’s arms, but for every inch of physical closeness there’s another meter of emotional distance. She can’t help but wonder if this time—now, after knowing exactly how their years would play out—she would finally be able to let Ran know how she feels.

So she wonders, until the week before the Auditions are set to begin.

* * *

Deep-blue night stretches out above them, dotted with pinpricks of white. The air is clear. The wind is cool. Moca feels her rear sink into the wet grass, a happy sigh escaping her lungs.

“…Is it really a good time to come up here?”

Moca laughs at Ran’s question as she stretches her legs out before her, leaning back on both hands. “Isn’t this the _best_ time to come up here? It only happens once a year.”

Ran adjusts her seating—she’s in a dignified _seiza_ position, of all things. “I guess you’re right, but shouldn’t we have waited for everybody else?”

Moca shrugs. “It’s the summer festival. The perfect time for lovebirds to find a quiet space… maybe under the bridge, right as the lights fade all around them… and then…”

Moca trails off. “And then what?” Ran says.

“I can’t say it out loud. There are children present.”

“Are you talking about me?”

“Oh, no no no.” A shake of the head. “Moca-chan is a child at heart. You, meanwhile, are a senior citizen.”

“H-Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Moca wiggles her legs back and forth, as if making half a snow-angel in the grass. “It means you’re a wise, dignified, experienced soul… teach me your ways, master.”

“Yeah, right,” Ran replies. “I’m just as much of an immature brat as you are.”

“Excuse you,” says Moca with fake indignation. _“Nobody_ is as much of an immature brat as me.”

“Fair,” says Ran, smiling. “I concede the title to you then.”

“Yaaay. I win.”

Moca’s glad to see Ran’s expression a little lighter now. She can tell why she was feeling a bit bothered earlier—Afterglow’s spent every fireworks show ever on this grassy hill, and it’s the first year where three of them have wandered off somewhere else. Himari and Tomoe presumably are actually under a bridge doing hormonal teenage acts, while Tsugu is off with her college girlfriend spending the rare bit of alone time together. So now it’s just the two of them, looking out over the yellowed streets below buzzing with light and life.

Moca takes the moment of silence to behold Ran a little more closely. The summer festival offers a different Ran than any other time of year: her hair is done up in a bun with a camellia hairpin, her red streak curving up across her temple as little strands of crimson fall across her ear. Her yukata is of a deep black and patterned with orchids, her namesake. Everything in her posture is stunningly prim and proper—far from her typical casual boldness of putting her feet up and crossing her arms. And then there’s her eyes, a gentle pink that glows above her light makeup, peering off into the horizon as they always have.

Such striking femininity… Moca has no choice but to rib it.

“Well well well,” she says. “Who is this perfect _yamato nadeshiko_ and what has she done with Ran?”

Delicate beauty immediately turns to irate fire. “Don’t give me that, you gremlin.”

“What are you talking about? Moca-chan is gussied up in her Sunday finest.”

“As if. Your obi is tied wrong, one of your sandal straps is broken, and you’re wearing the wrong side of your kimono on top. We’re not at a funeral.”

“Oh, but we are,” says Moca. “The funeral of our childhoods, brought to an end after this encroaching year…”

Ran doesn’t reply.

“…Sorry, too far?” asks Moca. “Don’t worry. We’ll be young at heart forever.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ran mutters, moving her shoulder in a little circle to get a crick out. “It won’t be long before I have to inherit the Mitake school, you know.”

Moca’s gaze softens. “…So you’re going through with it? For sure?”

“What other option do I have?” asks Ran. “I’m not even sure what else I’d want to do with my life.”

“Well…” Moca leans back to lie on her spine, relaxing both her hands behind her head. “We could always stick together as a band. Try to find a record deal. We’re already pretty big for a bunch of high schoolers.”

“Tsugumi already told me she wants to head out of town for college,” Ran replies. “Just to stretch her wings a bit. I can’t make her stay.”

Moca chuckles. “That’s our Tsugu. Always taking initiative.”

Ran smiles. “Yeah. I’m gonna miss her.”

Moca looks up into the sky. The stars look like fireflies, nestled comfortably in the infinite darkness. “You know… you can stretch your wings too.”

Ran, apparently tired of formality, shifts into a crisscross sitting position. “I know. But… where would I go? What would I do? It would all feel meaningless without everyone.”

“Are you sure about that?” asks Moca. “You’ve always been a trailblazer. You could do anything you wanted.”

“You think?”

“Yup. Space travel, necromancy, middle management… the world is your oyster.”

Ran reaches over and slaps her on the forehead. “Not helping.”

“I mean it~,” Moca sings. “Whatever you do, I know you’ll be good at it.”

Ran slowly teeters back to fall into a lying position parallel to Moca. “How are you more confident in me than I am?”

“Ehehe… Moca-chan knows all your good points, that’s all.”

“Mm. Right.”

At that moment, the first firework shoots into the sky.

The flares are big, round, vivid. Miniature suns shooting up to illuminate the night for the most ephemeral of moments before sputtering out into ash. Each boom brings a stutter of the heart, a tinge of the eardrums, a hitch in the breath. Their thoughts turn temporarily blank as they stare at the spectacle, the explosions thundering throughout their skulls.

“They’re like flowers.”

Moca’s head turns. Ran is staring straight at the fireworks, unblinking, the cerise in her eyes reflecting the glints of the lights.

“For just a moment, they appear in these bright, colorful displays,” Ran continues. “You arrange them by size and shape and color to try and form some sort of deeper meaning. But in the end, that doesn’t matter as much as the raw feeling you get when you look at it.”

Her face is so clear. So clean. Any amount of doubt or hesitation from moments prior has vanished, replaced by the resolute ember that looks out into the world.

“When I play music, that’s the sort of thing I want to communicate. That gut sensation that jolts through your spine and swirls through your stomach and just makes you want to shout it out at the top of your lungs. Whether it’s anger, or sadness, or joy…” Ran reaches a hand up towards the fireworks, as if capture them. “I want to scream it all out, so that the world hears my voice.”

…There really is only one person in this world who can shut Moca up, isn’t there?

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” asks Ran. “I want to yell, but I don’t know _what_ to yell. I search and I search for the right way to communicate, but it never quite comes to me…” She finally turns her head to look into Moca’s eyes. “You feel me?”

“…Yeah.” Moca’s voice is placid. “Completely.”

Ran doesn’t smirk or scoff or even nod. She just turns back to the sky, her eyes fixated on a place farther than Moca could ever reach. “Through music, through flowers, or through something else… how do I express myself?”

Ran’s thinking on levels she’s never even dreamed of. Moca can’t offer any meaningless platitudes or dry encouragement. All she can do is what she’s always done.

She reaches out and covers Ran’s hand with her own.

Moca can’t bring herself to look into her face. She’s afraid of what she might see. Discomfort? Reluctance? Anger? If she just feels Ran’s hand—soft and smooth and calloused and brittle—then that’s comfort enough, isn’t it? For her, and herself. She doesn’t have to stumble over the words she uses so poorly. She can just… exist.

For a moment, they lay there, questions and thoughts untold lingering over them as flowers continued blooming in the sky. Until…

“Moca?”

“Yeah, Ran?”

A halting breath. “I… I wish everyone else was here.”

Moca wonders if Ran is looking over at her sad, sad smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

That was as good as she’d ever get, wasn’t it?

Part of the gang. A valued comrade. A cherished friend. Nothing more.

That’s okay. If a friend is what Ran needs… then Moca will be there to protect her, up to the moment she figures out her dream. But until then…

She’ll keep her safe. Along with everyone else.

* * *

“Geez, Moca, are you doing this _again?”_

Himari’s voice breaks through her idle thoughts. Moca, of course, has been conscious the entire time they’ve been up on the rooftop, but there’s no fun in telling them that. She rolls over on her schoolbag-pillow with faux-drowsiness, murmuring gibberish as she yawns and curls up tighter. “Moca-chan is tired. She needs rest. She isn’t harming anyone.”

The months passed without incident. The Auditions have yet to conclude, but so far are proceeding exactly as before. There’s nothing to worry about… save the usual shenanigans.

“You look _too_ comfortable! You’re laying on solid concrete like it’s a plush bed or something.”

“Ehehe…” Moca stretches her arms and smacks her lips. “Well, that’s because Moca-chan is surrounded by all of her dearest friends in all the world. What could be more comfortable than that?”

She gets the same response as last time: two groans, a sigh, and a laugh. The perfect response to one of her quips. The ensuing chat flows through her ears like fudge, thick and saccharine and full of sweet memories. It’s so strange to think how quickly those three years had passed… how long had it really been? Three years? It couldn’t have been more than one…

“Ch-Cheer up, Himari-chan! You won’t have to worry about saying ‘the same as always’ for much longer, after all!”

Ah. There was the turn in the conversation—no use in letting the sour faces linger this time. “Hey now,” Moca says, “we’re still gonna spam that catchphrase in group chat, aren’t we?”

“G-Good point!” Himari replies, letting some of the air out of her lungs. “We’ll have plenty of opportunity to use it going forward.”

“Hell yeah,” says Tomoe. “We’re gonna talk every day after graduation, aren’t we?”

“I definitely hope so!” says Tsugumi, putting on a bright face. “Aomori is pretty far, so I’m going to be kinda lonely for a bit.”

“Oh? Even with your lovely wife not around?” asks Moca teasingly.

Tsugumi grows redder than the sunset behind her shoulder. “W-We’re not married! I-I mean…”

Her phone rings at this most inopportune moment.

“H-Hold on a second!” Tsugumi stammers as she picks up her phone. “H-Hello? Sayo-san? What is it?” She listens for a moment before her eyes grow wide and she bolts for the door. _“Hina-senpai_ _did WHAT to Aya-san?!”_

She practically leaves a Tsugu-shaped dust cloud in her wake. “Her future in-law sure is a troublemaker,” says Moca. “I worry for our dear little Tsugu…”

“Shouldn’t we be more worried about Maruyama-san?” asks Tomoe.

“This ain’t about her.”

Despite her usual jokery, Moca notices that Ran is just as silent as last time. Time to execute a similar strategy. “Hey Hii-chan, did you know that Kaoru-senpai is having an open dress rehearsal tonight?”

“WHA—” Himari manages to stop herself before she explodes. “Wait! Nice try, but I’m going steady with Tomoe!”

“You definitely weren’t steady when you looked at Seta-senpai’s poster this morning,” Tomoe says with a chuckle.

Himari elbows her as Moca tsks. “You’re thinking too small, Hii-chan. Haven’t you heard of a _ménage a trois?”_

Himari’s jaw hits the floor.

“What’s that?” asks Tomoe. “Is it English?”

“Something like that,” says Moca, shooing Himari towards the door. “Go and live your dreams, my friend.”

Himari is in fawning disbelief. “Moca… you’re a _genius.”_ She yanks Tomoe’s wrist and makes for the door. “Let’s go! Let’s go! To! Mo! E!”

“W-Wait, my English skills aren’t very good—”

Their conversation is lost with the slam of the rooftop door.

Moca hops to her feet and nudges her way towards a still-silent Ran. “Hey there, hot stuff. How’s the sunset today?”

“…Not in the mood,” Ran replies.

Obviously not, but Moca had to try and lighten things somehow. “Got some pre-grad blues?”

Ran’s look of disbelief never gets old. “You a mind reader or something?”

“Ohoho… Moca-chan can see the future, you know.”

“Cut the crap,” Ran says, slapping her on the arm. “Yeah, I’m upset about graduation. What about it?”

Moca thought she’d have more to say. But in the moment… she feels oddly laconic. She reaches out and rubs Ran on the shoulder, patting her with as much comfort as she can muster in the moment. “Try not to worry about it too much, okay? It’ll work out.”

“Easy for you to say…” Ran mutters, rubbing her temples. “I’m still torn. Part of me doesn’t mind inheriting the flower school, and another part wants to run away to Siberia. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Moca’s fingers drum against the backside of her arms. Last time Ran had resigned herself to something she didn’t want to. Now she was halfway detached from that same obligation, but still not at the level where she could break away.

“…The answer’s simple,” says Moca, removing herself from the railing and meandering over to the rooftop door.

“What’s that?”

Moca turns and winks at her. “It means I have more work to do.”

Ran’s face contorts with confusion. “Wh… What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Moca just giggles more as she opens the door.

“Oy! Moca! Answer me, you idiot!”

Yep. Moca’s having the time of her life.

She just has to help everyone else have theirs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Wasn't expecting to have to take a month off on this one BUT hopefully I can manage an every-other-week upload schedule until I get back on my feet... no promises though ;;

The light takes her back once more.

Her purpose is clear: last time was the trial run. Now she’s going for 100% completion.

“Moca? What are you doing up here?”

Ran’s voice sounds even more wary the second time around—well, third, technically. Moca of course recognizes that this is just a matter of her own perception, and not any actual significant shift in Ran’s attitude. She’s barely been back in time enough to cause a difference, after all. But that’s about to change. “’Sup?” she asks, joining Ran on the railing. “Nice sunset you’re checkin’ out here.”

“What’s it matter to you, anyway?” Ran retorts.

Her tone is just as cutting as it was last time. But Moca’s steeled herself for it now. “Why, lots matters to me. What time Yamabuki Bakery opens, what kind of fashion Hii-chan is picking out for our next show, and of course how my dear, precious Ran is doing all alone on the rooftop.”

“Tch.” Ran clicks her tongue. “You should go to practice. They’re waiting for you.”

“Waiting for _us,”_ Moca corrects, bumping shoulders with her. “Come on. Talk to Moca-chan. What’s eating at you?”

No response. Being too direct? Or not direct enough?

“…Hii-chan told me she overheard you talking with your dad. She said it sounded tense.”

Irritation flares through Ran’s eyes. “Who said that was any of your business?”

Okay, okay, a little more fiery than the last time around. Time to cool things off a bit. “Moca-chan isn’t an old snoop, you know. She’s just concerned, like a doting old mother.”

“As if. You’re always prying Himari for gossip, aren’t you?”

“Doting old mothers love hearing about petty drama involving tennis team girls, and not legitimate issues their friends are having.”

Ran presses her chin into the railing. “Well, what do you want me to say? ‘I hate my dad and wish he would get out of my hair already’?”

“Sounds like a good start to me,” says Moca, meandering over to wrap herself around Ran. She worries for a split-second about appearing clingy, but going by the lack of jostling beneath her the affection isn’t unwanted. “You can talk it out with him later mano a mano. But for now you should let it all out.”

“How?”

“Hmm… by screaming it at the top of your lungs?”

The little snort Ran lets out tells Moca she’s doing okay, at least. “What, just like yelling ‘fuck you dad’ out over the quad?”

“Never know,” purrs Moca. “Might help.”

She can feel Ran’s diaphragm collapse and expand in her arms for a moment before they’re pried off. “Gimme space, will you?”

Moca complies, taking a step back and crossing her arms as Ran straightens her spine. For a moment she just looks out over the grounds, taking the amber streaks of the sky into her with a deep, meditative breath. And then she grips the railway tightly before bringing both hands to cup her mouth:

“Fuck you, Dad!”

“…Louder,” Moca goads.

**“Fuck you, Dad!”**

“Louder!”

**“FUCK YOU, DAD!”**

“Louder, you’re my everything!”

In a single instant Ran’s burning anger snaps towards her.

“Ehehe, sorry, I had to—”

The ensuing schoolbag slapfight could probably have been avoided if Moca had just learned to shut up with the jokes, but that was a lesson she hasn’t drilled into her brain for the first couple decades of her life and she probably wouldn’t anytime soon.

Besides, Ran’s smiling as she does it.

And Moca would take any amount of pain just to see her smile.

* * *

“…Sorry, I just don’t get the lyrics.”

Phase Two. Ran still managed to sort out things with her dad for an interim period, but this would be the critical moment… or at least, the first of many. Moca knew that Ran and her dad shared a key trait of stubbornness, so inciting her to total rebellion would just lead to an explosion that nobody wanted. She had to lean her into prying away slowly. Surely. With less heartache and more determination.

“I don’t know about you all, but the lyrics make perfect sense to me,” says Moca, breaking up the chain of confusion that came about after they listened to the _Tied to the Skies_ demo. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Umm… no?” asks Himari. “The words were _way_ too dense for me to get!”

“That’s just because you’re not a language arts genius like yours truly,” sings Moca. She creeps over and slinks an arm around Ran’s neck, who shrinks a little at the contact. “Don’t worry. Me ‘n’ Ran’ll hash things out so you all can get it.”

“H-Hold on,” says Ran. “Are you saying you want to work on the song lyrics together?”

Moca’s never felt so emboldened before. “What? You don’t want the poetic talents of dear old Moca-chan? She writes so fleetingly, you know…”

“Woah, she knows the Kaoru-senpai word!” says Tomoe. “She must be good at writing then, right?”

“Is that how it works…?” asks Tsugumi.

Ran finally shoves Moca’s arm off her shoulder. “Look, if Moca wants to help that’s fine. In fact, that might help out since I’m still working through flower arrangement lessons.”

“Oh yeah, that can take some of the load off,” says Tomoe. “Good thinking.”

“Yeah, don’t worry so much about us!” says Himari, patting Ran on the shoulder. “Do what you need to do at home.”

It’s shaky, but Ran smiles. “Thanks guys.”

It’s a warm, fuzzy moment. Enough to make anybody’s heart fly out of their chest at the camaraderie on display.

But not quite the result Moca wants, is it?

Hm.

Hmm.

She thinks it over as the rest of the conversation plays out like last time—Himari, Tomoe, and Tsugumi all depart to WcRonald’s, leaving the two of them walking home on their lonesome.

“Something up?” asks Ran. “You’re not usually this quiet.”

“…Ah! Sorry, I was thinking of bread,” Moca lies. “It’s so easy to lose yourself in the sweet memory of a melon bun.”

“Right,” says Ran, who’s heard a variation of this at least a million times by now. “Forget I asked.”

She saunters on quietly. She’s definitely not as troubled by the lyrics as she was last time, as if she’s thrust the responsibility entirely into Moca’s hands. That would certainly lighten things for Ran in the short term, but in the long term… would she just consign herself to her fate once again?

It felt strange to Moca that Ran would ever settle for anything. She was always the burning comet, blazing the path ahead of where Afterglow would go, forging her own identity from the ashes of a role thrust upon her from birth—it seems so unreal that she would settle for a life someone set out for her. That isn’t the Ran she knows. She only falls into that life for the sake of everybody else, unable to consider a future that’s truly her own because she’s so concerned with keeping everyone together. It’s enough to tear Moca’s heart right in two.

What would Ran _not_ do for Afterglow’s sake?

…

Moca realizes that that’s the answer. The key to changing Ran’s path.

But to do it… she has to hurt her.

It’s nothing soul-shattering she’ll have to say. An offhand comment or an earnest plea at most. But it isn’t gentle or unabrasive, either: the sort of temporary cruelty that will prove a long-lasting kindness. But is Moca prepared to do that?

She’s noticing only now how far Ran is ahead of her on the sidewalk.

It’s now or never.

“…Hey, Ran?”

Ran stops, turning to notice how far behind Moca’s fallen. “What is it?”

Moca halts too, peering into the rigid blaze of her eyes from meters away. “I… I think I know why everyone else didn’t get the lyrics.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Well…” Moca’s eyes scan for anywhere that isn’t Ran’s face. “You haven’t been spending too much time with us lately.”

She can see it on the edge of her periphery: the hurt that comes with the realization. The same realization that Moca unwittingly thrust upon her last time, now used with intent. The void in her chest tells her she doesn’t want to do this. Even the slightest of painful truths feels like toxin coming from her mouth. But even as she sees Ran’s face fall, she has to remain strong.

“I… I guess we feel a little lost without you.”

It’s both much more and much less than Moca means to say. Immediately her mind fills up with horrible possibilities: that Ran will lash out, that Ran will break down, that Ran won’t know what to do with this information except feel wracked with guilt. She’s supposed to protect Ran from feelings like this, isn’t she? And now here she is indulging in them for her own sick ends. How could she—

“I’m sorry.”

Ran’s tone is low. Deep. But stable.

“I… I didn’t realize. I didn’t mean to… to…”

Before she can cognize it, Moca’s closed the distance between them. She opens her arms, ready to slam into an embrace—

Ran steps back.

Moca brakes.

“I… I hate flower arranging, honestly,” Ran continues. Her arms are huddled close to her chest, as if shivering. “I told my dad I’d do it going forward, but it just… takes up all my time. It’s not even like I hate doing it, I just… I can’t see you guys anymore. And I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it.”

Moca looks on. She wonders what her own expression looks like right now. She’s too fixated on the way Ran’s biting her lip to notice anything else.

“But… if it’s causing us to grow apart…” The fog in her eyes clears to reveal dawning light. “Then it isn’t worth it. I’ll tell my dad to shove it up his ass.”

Gulp. “Are… are you sure that’s a good idea?” Moca blurts out, her mouth now moving independently of her thoughts.

“If that’s what it takes,” says Ran. “The band’s what’s most important, and I want him to know that. If I have to decide between one or the other… then I’ll throw all his stupid flowers in the dirt.”

Ran’s eyes shine with a brilliance Moca’s never known.

…

She feels like an idiot.

To think that Ran Mitake would be so fragile as to crumble under the slightest weight of guilt… who is she thinking of here?

That’s right. Moca never carved the paths for Ran. She always spent more time watching than anything else. All she has to do is nudge her in the right direction.

“Hey, Ran?”

“What is it?”

“I would… tr-try to be reasonable at first. Maybe say you really don’t want to do it. Ask if you can lower the number of lessons first or something.”

“…Yeah.” Ran looks into her. “But what if he doesn’t listen?”

“Well.” Moca grins. “That’s when you tell him to eat shit.”

For once, Ran matches her smile. “You always know just what to say, huh?”

“Eheheh… of course.”

Another lie on the pile.

“I am a language arts genius, after all.”

Moca might as well lose track of them at this point.

* * *

Deep-blue night stretches out above them, dotted with pinpricks of white. The air is clear. The wind is cool.

“…Is it really a good time to come up here?”

Phase Three. Honestly more of a victory lap at this point. But Moca still wants their little festival outing to go well. “Why not? No sight is as splendid as when I’m with Ran, my bestest friend in the whole wide world.”

“Yeah, right,” Ran snarks. “You called Lisa that just last week, didn’t you?”

Moca has technically used that label for just about everybody she’s known with varying degrees of flippancy. “Okay, maybe you’re number three.”

“Three? Who else is above me?”

Moca blurts out the first name that comes to mind. “Chisato Shirasagi.”

“From Pastel*Palettes? Have you ever even talked to her?”

“Oh lots. We’re actually in love and going to elope against our parents’ wishes next month. It’s an entire tragic love story involving midnight trysts and secrets whispered in the dark. I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”

“Mm, is that so…” Ran sounds completely and totally convinced beyond belief. “Well invite me to the wedding, I guess.”

“Oh, so you can make a dramatic objection at the altar and sweep me into your arms?”

“A-As if.”

“Ohoho, Ran’s blushing… I guess she loves Moca-chan after all~!”

A slap on the wrist. “Cram it, you idiot!”

Moca’s heart always goes thumping whenever she teases Ran like this. There’s something so thrilling about coming so close to actually speaking her mind and never actually getting there… and seeing the rush of red to Ran’s face… it’s enough to give any fool hope. And Moca is, of course, the biggest jester in all the world.

Ran lets out her frustration through her nostrils. “Guess it makes sense to have love on the mind. Tomoe and Himari are probably off snogging somewhere, and Tsugumi’s with Sayo-san exploring the festival…”

“Oh?” Moca pivots to face her and, in a moment of boldness, asks a question she’s never dared to before. “You got a crush in mind? Besides me, of course.”

She expects to fully get slapped across the face for that one, but Ran just curls up into her knees. “What’s it matter to you?”

“Oh, come on, Ran,” Moca hums. “I’m your girl. Your bestie. Your _wingwoman._ You tell me who you’re looking at, and Cupid Moca-chan will pierce their heart with an arrow, just for you.”

Ran’s foot wiggles about frenetically. “It’s nobody, alright? Nobody at all.”

“It’s Minato-san, isn’t it?”

“I’m gonna rip out your lungs.”

“How else do you explain those burning, longing gazes you give her every time we’re all at a concert together?”

“Th-That’s because I hate her guts!”

“You can hate someone’s guts and still wanna smooch them.”

_“Huh._ You know what? I guess you’re right.”

Moca blinks. “Wait, are you saying you _do_ love Mina—”

“Hell no!” Ran barks, throwing her coin purse at Moca. “Ugh, you’re a real pest sometimes, you know that?”

Moca giggles it off, hoping her 500bpm heartrate slows down sometime soon as her brain scrambles to regain balance. “B-Being a pest is Moca-chan’s specialty. After all, she’s a gadfly to her core.”

“Har har,” Ran fake laughs, suddenly splaying her limbs out across the grass. “Guess I’ll have to call an exterminator.”

Moca copies her. “Make my death swift and painless, please.”

“Sure.”

Moca wants to guffaw at the brusqueness of the delivery, but her mind’s too occupied with whatever Ran’s thinking about. _Does_ Ran have a crush on anybody? She’s never told Moca about it, and as far as Moca can tell she’s the person Ran tells everything. She was the only person Ran told about her middle school crush on Tsugumi, and the only person Ran told about the time she broke her dad’s window playing baseball, and the only person Ran told about how she’s secretly high-key annoyed every time Tomoe and Himari call each other ‘babe’ (though that one is obvious to anyone paying attention). If she has feelings for someone, then she’d be the one to know.

Unless, of course, Moca _was_ that someone. But she’s not that much of a fool. How many times has she slunk her arms around Ran’s frame? Spent long hours huddled together jamming away on their guitars? Buried her face in that black mane, soaking up the smell of Ran’s cherry blossom-scented shampoo like it was the air on a crisp spring morning? And how many times has Ran batted her away, content to retain a friendly distance? If there’s supposed to be something more between them, then she hasn’t shown it. They’re friends. Nothing more… and thankfully, nothing less.

The fireworks bloom in the night. Ran looks out like last time, reciting the same eloquent spiel about flowers and expression, her gaze caught in the lurid display of colors. Moca only half-listens. She’s too distracted by her own thoughts.

If Ran ever falls in love with someone else, Moca will support her.

That’s her role. To be the gracious god Mocagami, granting the happy endings that all her friends so rightly deserve. Love, wealth, happiness… she’ll give it all to them, if that’s what they desire.

It’d just be returning the favor, after all.

“Moca?”

The voice snaps her out of it. “Yeah, Ran?”

A halting breath. “I… I wish everyone else was here.”

Moca’s eyes reflect the burning red above. She feels the night wind cut at her cheeks. “Yeah. Me too.”

* * *

“Geez, Moca, are you doing this _again?”_

Moca’s eyes shoot open and she bolts up, causing Himari and Tsugumi to jump back. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“Aagh! Don’t scare me like that!” Himari yelps, huddling up in Tomoe’s arms. “I-I just thought you were asleep again!”

“Ehehe.” Moca slowly falls back into her resting position. “You should know better than to wake a sleeping giant.”

“But you’re not as tall as me,” says Tomoe.

“I don’t think that’s the issue…” Ran mutters.

Moca drowses on and on as she listens to their idle conversation about nothing. Seinfeldian back-and-forths like that are her lifeblood, after all—she couldn’t imagine passing through a day without something meaningless happening. People like to talk about how every moment of life was precious and meaningful and stunning, but Moca knows that some of it is just monotonous nothing. But she’ll take a thousand monotonous nothings over even one intimate heart-to-heart. She’s got far too much practice with the former and not nearly enough with the latter.

Everything plays out like normal. Tsugumi gets called out due to one of Hina’s cryptic shenanigans, Moca lures Himari away from the rooftop with promises of a princely rendezvous, and before she knows it it’s just her and Ran, looking out into the western horizon, same as always.

“So,” Moca begins. “You single?”

Ran doesn’t even look at her in response.

“Woof. Guess I’ve gotta work on my openers, huh?”

Ran’s hands wring around the railing. “I’ve decided.”

“Oh? Decided what? To get on one knee and propose?”

Again, not even contempt. Ran’s clearly weighed down right now.

“…Sorry. Go ahead.”

Ran actually looks a little startled to hear Moca apologize, but the shock fades from her expression soon enough. “We’re all… splitting up, right?”

It’s Moca’s turn to not respond.

“…I managed to stick it out with flower arranging all these years for you guys,” says Ran. “And I guess it’s an alright fallback option or something. But it’s not what I want to do.”

Moca tries to show how much her heart fills up at that. “Really? What is, then?”

Ran’s red streak catches the sun, blazing orange in the evening twilight. “What I’ve always done up to this point. Music.”

Music. It’s such a simple answer, and yet feels so profound coming from her lips.

“Obviously Afterglow can’t all stick together, so I was thinking of going solo or something.” She shrugs as she flips around to rest her back on the rail. “I dunno.”

“Ohoho, like a singer-songwriter?” asks Moca. “Can’t wait to hear you with an acoustic guitar over the Starbucks speakers.”

She expects a suplex for that one, but Ran (surprisingly) chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be something? I guess I could try to find another band or something, too.”

“Could always try worming your way into Roselia. Usurp Minato-san and take her kingdom from her.”

Ah, _there’s_ the look of exasperation. “You have the weirdest ideas, you know that?”

“Of course. It’s my job.”

Ran doesn’t say anything for a moment. Her back’s turned towards the sun, casting her face in shadow, until she mutters something unintelligible. “…ith me.”

“Hm? Sorry, what was that?”

“Um, you…” Ran clears her throat. “You can come with me, if you like.”

Moca’s mouth—usually hung in a tiny ‘o’—is now completely flat, her eyes as wide as the moon.

“Everybody else has plans, I know,” says Ran. “But I dunno. I guess we could try striking out as like a duo or something? Just a couple of girls and their guitars… something like that.”

Silence.

“Well?” asks Ran, turning to face her. “What do you think?”

It’s happened again.

Ran’s carved out the path, and she can follow right behind.

A happy ending, not just for Ran, but for herself.

Dreams really could come true, couldn’t they? It’s as simple as saying yes. She just has to reach out and take it.

…

Moca turns away from the sun. “I’ll think about it.”

“Y-Yeah, it’s a pretty big decision.” Ran coughs. “Take your time. I probably should have told you about it a lot sooner, honestly.”

“Moca-chan appreciates it.” Even now she can manage to put on her sing-songy intonation, at least. She moseys away from the railing. “Now if you’ll excuse her, she has an appointment to get to.”

“An appointment?” Ran asks. “At this time of day?”

“Yep. Yamabuki Bakery closes in less than half an hour, you know.”

“Ah, should’ve figured… well, see you later.”

“See you earlier~.”

She shuts the door before Ran can process the remark.

Part of her knows she should seriously consider Ran’s offer. But deep down in her heart, she’s already accepted the truth.

This _is_ her happy ending.

She just has to make sure the credits never roll.

**Author's Note:**

> Planning to update this once a week! In the meantime, here are some other Bandori/Revue fics you can check out:
> 
> [Bandorevue AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620568) by silversilky: the stories that started it all! Featuring SayoTsugu, Lisa in a time loop of her own, and good old fashioned Hikawa sibling drama. silversilky is also the beta-reader for this fic; giganto thanks to her, and please check out her stuff if you get the chance it's incredible!
> 
> [The Stars Cross](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22941748/chapters/54838438) by yours truly, a KaoChisa RevStar fic fashioned very similarly to this one.
> 
> [In the Garden of Olives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776865) also by me, which is not a Bandori Revue AU but rather a dumb crossover where Claudine and Yukina are cousins and go on a double date with their brunette gfs.
> 
> And last, but certainly not least, [A River in Egypt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207794) by TheShinySword, in which Tomoe and Himari have a grand campy musical number about comphet. It's one of the most mesmerizing things I've ever read.
> 
> Twitter: [@DivineNoodles](https://twitter.com/DivineNoodles)  
> CuriousCat: [DivineNoodles](https://curiouscat.me/DivineNoodles)


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